


Just curious

by stormthedarkcity



Series: The Pearl [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, First Time Kink, Fluff and Smut, Forced to Watch, Handcuffs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Zevran, d/s dynamics, sort of...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Zevran and Alistair have been dating for a little while, and Alistair has been getting rather curious about a specific aspect of Zevran's usual sex life...
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai
Series: The Pearl [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534775
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69





	Just curious

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is mostly smut, but it is part of a series! If you haven't read the main Pearl story, the only important thing you really need to know for this one is that Zevran is on medication and he can't always climax, so they have an arrangement and he regularly calls it a day before having come.
> 
> Enjoy!

Alistair finds comfort, in his relationship with Zevran, an easy sort of familiarity. He takes to having the occasional meal at Zevran’s place, who delights in making him discover dishes from Antiva.

On one such evening, as he’s washing their plates in the comfortable silence following a good meal, Zevran comes to stand right behind him. He wraps his arms around his waist and pulls himself flush to Alistair, making him shiver. Alistair likes feeling’s Zevran’s warmth against him. He’s glad he isn’t coy with his affection.

He swallows as his thoughts circle back to something that has been on his mind a lot these past few days. Zevran and him have gone to get tested together not long ago, and, beyond all the possibilities that knowing they were both clean offered, the very intimacy of the event had lead Alistair to ponder about a lot of other things regarding their sex lives.

He clears his throat and keeps his head down as he speaks, hoping to sound nonchalant. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Hmm?” Zevran mumbles against his back.

His hands wander on the surface of Alistair’s stomach, over his shirt, more distracted than truly teasing, but they’re still enough to derail Alistair’s focus. He has to finish rinsing off the plate he’s holding and put it away on the drying rack before he feels like his attention isn’t too divided for this conversation. He plants his palms on the edge of the sink.

“Handcuffs,” he finally says.

Zevran’s hands stop moving, and there’s a smile in his voice as he answers, “Oh? And what about them?”

“I— I don’t know, I’m just curious!” Alistair squeaks out. “You’re the one who knows about this stuff!”

Zevran chuckles against him. His hands begin moving again, but with more focus this time.

“That is quite true,” he admits. “And I cannot say I have not thought of a few… _scenarios_ involving you and handcuffs.”

His head moves against Alistair’s back until his forehead is resting against his spine, breath warm and heavy through Alistair’s shirt.

“Finish the dishes, will you?” Zevran says. “If we are to do this, I want to have a chat first.”

Anxiety lodges itself between Alistair’s ribs like a knife. “Sounds serious.”

Zevran hums. “These things should be taken seriously. As fun as it can be, I do not wish for either of us to find ourselves in an uncomfortable, or dangerous situation. Think of this as… Getting into the right habits.” He breathes out sharply, and then continues in a lower voice: “I thought myself above such things as safewords when this sort of activity entered my life, and I have had to learn it all later… It was not a painless process. I do not wish for you to make the same mistake.”

He breathes against Alistair, once more, heavy and shaking, before detaching himself from him entirely. Alistair is about to protest; but Zevran slinks to his side and rests a hip against the kitchen counter, smiles lopsidedly at him, and says as a justification, “these conversations should be had with a clear mind. I find such a thing hard to achieve when I am so close to you.” 

Alistair feels his cheeks heat up.

He’s never finished doing the dishes so quickly.

They soon find themselves in the living room, Alistair on the sofa, Zevran in the armchair. Zevran made a point of not sitting next to him. He’s looking at him intently, hands folded in his laps, and his expression is uncharacteristically serious as he gives him some information on their safety.

“Regarding safewords,” he finally says, “I am quite partial to a colour-based system. Green for everything being good, yellow for pause, and red for stop.”

Alistair hums. “Green, yellow, red. Like a traffic light. Makes sense.”

“My preferences lie with this system because it turns safewords into a conversation. One can ask their partners about their current colours, as well as give them out unprompted. And this goes both ways, yes? These words are for the both of us. You may ask me for my colours at any moment, if you find yourself worried about my mental state.”

Alistair nods. He digs a thumb into his palm to ward off the anxiety.

“Any questions?” Zevran asks.

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Colour check?”

Alistair releases his hold on his own hand, laying them both flat onto his thighs. He exhales carefully. “Green.”

Zevran’s lips immediately stretch into a wicked smile, as though he’s barely been holding it back this whole time.

“Perfect,” he purrs. “Will you take off your clothes for me, and then meet me in my room?”

Alistair swallows. “I can do that,” he breathes.

When he finally gets to the bedroom Zevran is standing next to his bed, still fully clothed, holding up two different pairs of leather handcuffs. They’re very similar in shape, although one of them is of a deep red colour —Alistair is familiar with this one—, and the other is black and lined with pink fur.

“What do you think?” Zevran asks.

Alistair shakes his head. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you are the one who will be wearing them. It is only fair you pick the ones you prefer.”

Alistair swallows, and points at Zevran’s left hand. “I like the black ones.”

“You have very good taste, my friend, Alistair, I do quite like these as well.” Zevran walks by him to put the red cuffs back onto their hanger. “The fur is such a nice touch, is it not? Aesthetically pleasing as well as comfortable.”

Alistair hums his approval as he watches Zevran walk back into the middle of the room and look around him. After some consideration, Zevran goes to the armchair in the corner and drags it until it’s sitting right in front of the bed; he then swings by his bathroom and returns with a clean, plush towel which he lays on the chair. He pauses for a moment before nodding to himself.

“Sit.”

Alistair obeys. In his chest, his heart is beating fast; he swallows as Zevran comes to stand right in front of him and detaches the cuffs from one another. He obediently raises an arm when Zevran holds his hand out expectantly, although he can’t keep his fingers from twitching as the cuff is fastened around his wrist.

“Not too tight?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Zevran reaches down the chair’s arm and lifts a tie up to where Alistair’s wrists would sit on them. Alistair laughs.

“Are these specifically so you can handcuff people to this chair?”

Zevran raises an eyebrow and smirks at him. “I like to be prepared for any situation,” he says like it’s a reasonable justification. He clasps the handcuff to the tie, and Alistair tugs on it experimentally. He feels his breathing pick up speed uncomfortably at the knowledge of being trapped, and his arm shakes. Zevran pauses with the second cuff in hand.

“Colour check?”

Alistair’s runaway thoughts settle as soon as he lays eyes on Zevran’s serious features. He inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth, and then nods.

“Green.”

The second cuff is put around his free wrist and clasped onto the other arm of the chair. Alistair’s whole body feels tense. He grips the arms, moves his body in the chair, looks up at Zevran who stands there with his fists on his hips.

“So what’s the plan?” Alistair already sounds out of breath.

“I thought I would give you a bit of a show, yes?” Zevran pouts. “You are always all over me, I never get to show off…”

He smiles mischievously as he bites his lower lip and then cups Alistair’s cheek to kiss him. Alistair leans into it, forgetting himself piece by piece until he tries to lift a hand to bring Zevran closer and is reminded of his current predicament. He breaks the kiss.

“Now who’s all over the other one?” he murmurs against Zevran’s lips.

Zevran laughs as he loops a finger around one of the ties holding his wrists down and tugs on them. “Come now, we both know _you_ would be the guilty party if I hadn’t taken any precaution…”

He lowers himself again, so very close, but he pulls back before Alistair can kiss him. Alistair’s hands pull against their bonds despite himself, tug upward in a vain attempt to get Zevran close to him again.

Zevran only tuts as gently caresses Alistair’s cheek. “I think you will have to be content with watching for now, yes?”

Alistair’s head hits the back of the armchair with a thunk, and he makes a vague sound of protest as Zevran pulls back, glancing at his hardening cock and smiling wider. He remains there, between the armchair and the bed, as he begins undoing the buttons of his shirt. He’s so close Alistair could swear he can feel his breath on his naked skin; his fingers twitch, extend forward, but no matter how much he tugs on the cuffs he’s always just a few inches from Zevran. Not that Zevran would let himself be touched.

The shirt is discarded. Zevran sits on the bed, resting one foot and then the other on the armchair, between Alistair’s knees, as he removes his trousers. There’s a damp spot on his boxers. Alistair whines.

Zevran swings his hair over his shoulder as he walks to his wardrobe to retrieve that big compartmented box in which he keeps some of his toys. He carries it back to the bed, returns to his choice position right in front of Alistair, and stands on his tiptoes as he bends forward to look through its contents. He arches his back, widening his stance as he teeters unsteadily, exposing himself to Alistair in a truly sinful way.

Today was a day off, and he isn’t wearing a packer. The fabric of his underwear clings close to his skin, especially in the part that’s dark with wetness. Alistair’s mouth feels dry. He wants to lick that damp spot. He leans forward without meaning to.

“Ah!” Zevran exclaims, and he turns around with a realistic silicone dildo gripped tightly in his hand. “I believe this one is quite accurate, is it not?” He pouts thoughtfully and squints at Alistair’s half-hard cock. “Yes, I think this will do,” he concludes.

Alistair’s breath run short at the implication of Zevran knowing the measurements of his cock well enough to be able to pick a similarly-sized dildo from his collection.

Zevran drags the box down from the bed — Maker, how heavy _is_ this thing? — and picks up the bottle of lube from his nightstand, before climbing onto the far end of the bed with the dildo in one hand and the lube in the other.

“I do enjoy having a captive audience,” he purrs.

Alistair chuckles nervously as he watches him approach slowly on all fours. From anyone else it would probably looks ridiculous, but when it’s Zevran it somehow becomes a calculated, dangerous dance. The feeling of being trapped washes over Alistair again, but this time the flutter it triggers in his chest is pleasant. He likes being trapped like this. He likes being at the mercy of Zevran’s whims.

Zevran stops his approach not far from the edge of the bed. He sits on his heels, disregarding both lube and silicone cock, and slowly spreads his knees apart. His gaze rakes over Alistair’s body, over his clenched fists, as his hands wander on his own body. Chest… Nipples… Thighs… Throat, neck, pulling his hair over his shoulder… His eyes close and his head falls back as he finally slips a hand under the waistband of his boxers. Alistair gasps as the fabric begins moving, the shape of Zevran’s fingers barely distinguishable. Zevran’s back arches and he puts his free hand on the bed to stabilise himself as his head rolls to the side. He opens amber eyes onto Alistair and has a breathy sort of laugh at whatever he sees on his face.

Alistair would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of this. He hadn’t imagined the handcuffs, per se, but the image of Zevran pleasuring himself while looking right at him had been the theme of more than one lonely evening.

He squeezes his jaw tight as Zevran’s knees spread wider, his stance shifting slightly, shoulder moving forward as he buries his fingers into himself. He bites his lower lips before his head rolls back again, his whole arm now moving in rhythm with his heavy breath.

“Alistair,” he gasps.

“Yeah?”

“Alistair… Your, ah, your fingers feel so good…”

Alistair pictures that hand being his, these fingers being his. He pictures himself towering over Zevran as he’s like that, kneeling and panting; he pictures himself holding him up with one hand and pleasuring him with the other. He whines, straining against the cuffs so hard the leather groans. His cock is demanding attention.

And then Zevran stops, legs shaking, and removes the hand from his boxers. He licks his fingers. One by one. His gaze feels like being burnt.

He picks up the lube and covers the dildo with a hefty dose, jerking it off obscenely to spread it; his hands are shaking. Alistair is vaguely glad he’s not the only one being bothered by this, and he’s even about to make a joke about it when Zevran shoves the lube away, turns his back on him, and lets himself fall on all fours.

Alistair gurgles.

_Well this is just unfair._

Zevran twists and lowers his upper body until he’s resting on a single shoulder and looking back at Alistair, cheek pressed against the bed. The shift exposes even more of his holes to Alistair, whose breath turns into a moan as he moves forward and then back into his chair. He can’t tell which is worse, not being able to touch Zevran or not being able to touch himself.

Zevran smiles. His breathing is just as quick as Alistair’s. He raises the hand holding the dildo above himself, twisting his back, and then reaches under himself with the other one to direct it. It’s a bit of an awkward position, and it takes him a few attempts to get the angle right, but soon the head of the silicone cock is pushing past his labia. He drags it back a little, before pushing it in a little further. His other hand come up to surround his own dick and jerk it off slowly.

The dildo pulls back. And further in. And again. And then it’s buried as far as Alistair knows it’ll go — because that dildo really is an accurate size compared to his own cock.

Which really isn’t helping how painful it is to only be allowed to watch. Zevran chuckles as he watches him strain against the bonds, and then the sound transforms into a gasp as his own movements quicken.

Alistair wants that cock to be his. He wants to lean over Zevran, to nuzzle at his neck, to have his arms wrapped around that small torso of his.

Zevran is moaning his name. He’s looking at him, right at him, into his eyes — he’s not even looking at his body anymore. He must really enjoy what he sees there, because his movements grow erratic, his thighs trembling under his weight.

This is unbearable.

Such sweet torture.

Alistair thinks he’s speaking. Talking about what he wants to do, maybe, or just saying Zevran’s name, most likely. He aches. And not just from the tension in his cock — it’s an ache that’s everywhere, in his fingertips and in his thighs and on his tongue.

“Zevran, Zevran,” he babbles, and then, as his stomach contracts, “yellow!”

Zevran stops moving. There’s a spasm going through him, from head to toe.

“I can’t—” Alistair tugs at his bonds. “You’ve got to— I want to touch you, _please_ , I need to touch you.”

Zevran’s hand drops from his clit as he swallows and licks his lips. “Do you want me to untie you?” he asks. His voice is rough.

“Yes,” Alistair breathes.

Zevran slips the dildo out of himself, leaving it on the bed, and he gets up on shaky legs. Alistair grips his arm as soon as he’s got one hand free, but Zevran keeps him from moving when the second one is uncuffed.

“What is your colour now?”

“Green. Green. Can I touch you?” There’s desperation in his voice.

“Yes.”

Zevran moves back as Alistair walks forward, and then they’re both on the bed, Alistair hovering above him on trembling limbs.

“Can I come inside of you?”

Zevran’s hands snake into his hair, pulling him down. “Yes.” His legs move around Alistair and wrap around his waist, aligning them effortlessly. Alistair keens as his cock brushes Zevran’s burning hot entrance; he pauses there.

“Ah, big boy,” Zevran pants, “you cannot make me wait now that you have asked so nicely to take me.” His teeth glint as he smiles up at him with half-lidded eyes.

Alistair sinks into him. He doesn’t mean to do it in a single motion, but it’s what happens anyway, and it takes all his willpower not to collapse on top of Zevran at the feeling. He groans into Zevran’s temple and is rewarded with a small broken moan. He pulls away and then back into him, mind nearly going blank when Zevran snakes a hand between their bodies and begins jerking himself off again, breathing quick and warm against his ear.

“Come on,” Zevran says in a low voice.

Alistair tries to set a rhythm, but he’s mostly just pulling away and pushing back in in erratic movements, and Zevran doesn’t seem to mind. He mumbles his appreciation when Alistair slips a hand under his back to pull him closer; his legs are firm around Alistair’s waist, trapping him almost as surely as the handcuffs did.

Alistair plants his forehead on the bed next to Zevran’s head. “I’m close.”

Zevran’s free hand buries itself in his hair as he turns to him. “Come on, Alistair, come, ah, come inside of me,” he pants.

He does. It’s not the first time, but the knowledge that he’s done something as intimate as leaving a piece of himself in Zevran still rattles something in his chest. He holds him close as the waves wash through him, vaguely aware of Zevran’s hand combing through his hair and his sweet words rolling to his ear.

Zevran is still stroking his hair when his mind clears up again. He smiles smugly at Alistair.

“You haven’t come, have you?” Alistair pulls out of Zevran and presses himself close to him again. “Do you want me to…”

Zevran hums. “No, I reckon this is enough for today. I am fine. Torturing you like this has been reward enough.”

Alistair buries his face into the bedsheets and groans; he feels Zevran’s chest shake against his as he laughs quietly. Alistair turns his head to the side so he can look at him.

“It was the worst,” he whines.

“Hmm—hmm.” Zevran smiles knowingly.

“I loved it,” Alistair confesses, and then hides his face into the bedsheets again.

Zevran’s hand comes up to his hair again. “I am glad you did. It was quite delightful for me as well. You make an _excellent_ prisoner, Alistair.”

Alistair grunts in protest, but he doesn’t have the strength to argue further. He actually quite likes knowing he’s a good prisoner.

He’d gladly be Zevran’s prisoner any day of the week.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I reply to comments! If however you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to add "/whisper" or "#whisper" to your comment and I'll appreciate it but not respond!  
> 


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